


Instinct

by aishahiwatari



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: AU, Alpha Ash Tyler, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Begging, Biting, Dubious Consent, Dubious Consent due to Heat Already in Progress, Knotting, M/M, Minimal Blood Play, Off-Screen Bonding, Omega Christopher Pike, Porn with Feelings, a/b/o dynamics, discussions of bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 20:57:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18699010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aishahiwatari/pseuds/aishahiwatari
Summary: Chris had warned him."I'll beg you to mate me. Later. Don't. Please."





	Instinct

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Demerite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demerite/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Инстинкт](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19092925) by [cicada](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cicada/pseuds/cicada)



> Thank you for always believing in me, Demi. This would not exist if it weren't for you.
> 
> This is set on the Enterprise, after Season 2 of Discovery.

There are rumours about the different ways to contact Section 31. Some say they only appear when you least expect it. Others are convinced that you can summon them by saying the name of the department three times while doing something that you don't want them to see. Or that by the time you're thinking of them, they're already there, you just haven't noticed it yet.

Phil Boyce -CMO of the Enterprise, long-suffering personal physician to one Christopher “it’ll be fine, Phil” Pike- finds that his preferred method is to swipe his Captain's comm while he's barely conscious after yet another away mission that very nearly went awry, scroll to the contact labelled Tyler and hit call.

"He needs you, get over here," he says, and flips the damn thing shut before anybody can reply. He doesn't know if the comm is even on Tyler's person, but he doesn't doubt that the message will get through.

He leaves a box of nutrient shakes, meal-replacement bars and bottles of electrolyte solution on his desk, though, and when he returns to his office after a brief check on his other patients, it's gone. There's no record of his door opening. That has to be enough.

 _Extreme fatigue, exhaustion, stress and dehydration_ go down on the Captain's file as the reason for his absence from the bridge for the next few days. It's a lie, or only a half-truth, like the majority of that file.

They couldn't have Starfleet knowing that the heroic Captain Pike is an omega, after all, can they?

-

Starship doors don't actually need to make any sound when they open. It's an effect added later as a sort of intruder alarm system for those who know to listen. Ash can override both that and the Captain's security code, steps into Captain Pike's quarters and sets his box down without a sound. His own lock allows only Philip Boyce to gain entry. He doesn't know the man, has never met him, but he doesn't seem like the type to interfere unless there's a genuine emergency.

And this, he realises when the scent hits him, musky and sweet and pure, could very well descend into an emergency.

He hadn't known. Had always felt something a little irrational, a kind of magnetism that he had attributed to the Captain's nature, his charisma. Everybody likes him. Trusted him. Believed that when he started talking about familial relationships among his crew that he was defying the expectations of his gender. Not embracing them.

If all omegas were like Christopher Pike, Ash conceded, they'd make exceptional captains. As it is, they have to fight to obtain any sort of command role. Most are filtered out during the training process through a combination of alpha-centric practices and systematic bullying. So-called honour violence and threats of sexual assault aren't uncommon.

But Captain Pike's file states categorically that he is an alpha. It means his CMO has been lying about him, for him, for years.

And that same CMO called Ash. He doesn't know what to think, whether he can consider it a blessing or a curse. He thinks Chris' initial reaction to him will be telling. If Ash doesn't stay, Doctor Boyce will keep him alive, Ash doesn't doubt that. But when Chris has spent so long suppressed, there are risks during that first intense heat. It could be dangerous for him to go through it without an alpha.

Ash cannot deny that the thought intrigues him. He's considered his attraction to Chris many times, in the light of one alpha favouring another. Chris had always resisted even the suggestion of any advances, though. It's not clear whether it was Ash, personally, that he rejected or just the situation where his true gender might be discovered by someone he didn't quite trust. They've come a long way since their difficult beginnings, been through too much together not to have at the very least a deeply ingrained respect for one another.

It must have been lonely, Ash realises abruptly. To lie for so many years, for Chris to have denied himself all possible outlets for his expansive capability for love, all for the sake of his command. Captain Pike is a truly remarkable, foolhardy man.

To Ash, omega scent has always felt cloying. He's an alpha, because of course his body had been designed with physical superiority in mind. But whenever he's had a hint of it, encountered an omega in the beginnings of their heat cycle, he has never felt attraction. The air always felt strangled, less breathable somehow for the pheromones saturating it.

Chris smells like the ocean on a clear day, salty and reviving and real. Ash wants to fill his lungs with air that's been drenched in him, wants to strip naked and roll around in that scent.

Except he is not a mindless savage. He does not let his nature define him, and if anybody knows anything about suppressing his urges and defying his nature, it is Ash Tyler. He will not break.

He approaches the partition that conceals the bed, the origin of the scent that grows more potent with every step. Ash's head swims. He's used to it, to not feeling quite at home in his own body. His steps don't falter, remain silent until he rounds that wall.

Nothing could have prepared him for the sight in front of him, for Christopher Pike splayed on top of tangled sheets, naked and gleaming with sweat. His chest rises and falls with panting breaths, his brow is furrowed, his lips bitten raw, every muscle in his glorious body straining and relaxing at intervals.

He's attempting to keep control, Ash realises, to slow the onset of his heat. He doesn't know how long it's been but the sheets are drenched with sweat, the air thick with the smell of sex. Chris' cock is desperately hard, flesh purpling at the head, and it drips a steady flow of pre-come onto his taut, defined stomach.

Ash swallows thickly in lieu of bending down to lick it off, and Chris' eyes snap open to meet his. They're wide and startled, vulnerable, a stormy shade of blue-grey that Ash could lose himself in.

"You shouldn't be here," Chris husks. The gravel in his voice makes Ash's cock twitch with the beginnings of arousal beginning to pool at the base of his spine. He is strong, certainly, but this man, this vision has been sent to test him.

Chris has always tested him. Right from the beginning, when they circled each other like wild dogs ready to fight.

Ash doesn't want to fight any more. Somehow they're still circling. 

"Are you telling me to go?"

Those beautiful eyes close. Chris shudders. A fresh spurt of pre-come joins the growing puddle on his abdomen. Ash's mouth waters.

But he is asking the wrong question.

"Chris," he says, and every muscle tenses, taut and defined, rippling human perfection laid out in front of him. "Do you want me to stay?"

Chris is exhausted, helpless, already vulnerable. He's been through so much. Ash longs, yearns to protect him, to cover him with his body and convince him he is safe.

It hits him with a start that he could literally do anything in that moment. Chris would have no avenue of complaint, no possible recourse, no way of telling anyone what had happened without also revealing himself. He'd lose his command.

Some of Ash's horror must show in his features because Chris' expression softens when he opens his eyes to look at him.

Ash has yet to get the words out. He's falling deeper with every breath, his heart racing, his cock hard in his pants, every instinct he has urging him to touch, to covet, to take.

He chokes out the words, "Your CMO can sedate you. Get you through this so you can find someone else. When you're feeling more like yourself."

Chris laughs at little at that. "Am I not more myself now, than I am at any other time?"

"You're whoever the fuck you choose to be," Ash says, too harshly and through gritted teeth. He is the last person who should be here. Except Philip Boyce knows that, and he called him anyway. 

And Chris' eyes have darkened at his tone. He licks his lips. Ash sways forwards with the desire to do it for him. Somehow Chris' smile is relaxed, indulgent. He's in control and letting the poor, senseless alpha play a little. "I want you to stay."

Alongside burning arousal, there is an overwhelming sense of relief that floods through Ash at the sound of those words in that voice, so close to the edge of desperation, inarguable need, but not across it, just yet. He would never force himself on anyone.

"Can you keep a secret, Specialist Tyler?" Chris asks him, then, flushed and somehow still coy, even with his body on full display. He's smiling when Ash crashes to his knees at the side of the bed and takes hold of his jaw to bring him into a hot, open-mouthed kiss, to taste him, to have him, gasping and intimate.

"Anything, for you," he shouldn't say, except it makes Chris whine and shudder, go lax and submit to his exploration, to the delving of Ash's tongue. He submits, and it's blissful, and wonderful, and an honour. Ash releases his jaw but not his mouth to awkwardly unfasten his jacket and shove it back off his shoulders. He throws it aside, not caring where it falls, and Chris somehow makes the answering caress of his tongue approving. 

He's not immune to his long-repressed omega instincts, then, the ones that thrill at displays of power and need. Ash is grateful. He's sure he'll soon have the capacity for little else. 

He attempts to pull back more than once, drawn inexorably back in by the soft, swollen lips, the pink tongue that darts out to taste what Ash has left there. They kiss, long and deep, for all they've been trying to say for years, until Ash is straining at the confines of his pants and Chris is whining softly with every exhalation, rolling his hips in an attempt to gain friction from nothing but the air. For just a moment, Ash presses his thumb past those lips, down on that tongue, and watches the repeated motions, Chris’ cock just kissing his stomach with every one, dipping into that pool of fluid even as he leaks more in thick, pearly drops. Chris suckles gratefully on his thumb and Ash removes it to reward him with a soft, tender kiss.

"You're beautiful," he murmurs, too, and Chris is not so far gone if he can still look at him with that kind of wary suspicion. It's okay. Ash will have him believing it by the end, will whisper it into his skin over and over until it's ingrained, like a permanent brand.

He stands to strip his undershirt off next, pulling it over his head before he bends to unfasten his boots. He's sweating, too, the air warm and close, and it's a relief to expose his skin. With his boots kicked off, he pauses only to set his comm on the side table. The world might try to end while he's there and even needy as he is, Chris would never forgive him if he missed it. When he drops his hands to his fly, he pauses. Chris makes a sweet little irritated huffing noise at the delay, fingers twitching as though he resists the urge to help. Ash unbuttons and then eases the zipper down so slowly he can hear each of the individual teeth click free. Chris licks his lips. He can't take his eyes off Ash's hands. 

Eventually, Ash lets his pants drop so he stands only in his briefs, cock tenting the front until he adjusts, tucks it into his waistband so only the head, dark and wet and gleaming, peeks out. He wants to put on a display, to give Chris the chance to sink into his instincts at his own pace, not driven by anything but his own desire.

And for the first time, Ash feels like he might be desired. Chris eyes take in every inch of him, lingering on the defined muscles in his stomach, the strength apparent in his shoulders, the tension in his thighs. And on his cock, hard and leaking because there is a beautiful, powerful omega waiting for him, becoming quietly desperate for him, biting his own lip to stop himself from pleading for him.

"Something you want, Omega?" Ash has asked before he can think better of it, before he can consider than maybe Chris wouldn't approve of the address.

It just makes Chris laugh ruefully, though, although his eyes snap open wide when Ash trails gentle fingers across the exposed head of his own cock, gathering up the fluid forming there to smear it until the reddened skin glistens. Chris whimpers. Ash thinks he's biting his tongue. He's so stubborn.

There will be time to test that. Ash lets his briefs drop, unable to suppress a relieved hiss through his teeth as he feels the cool air on his heated sensitive skin, the tissue of the knot at the base already beginning to swell. Chris doesn't speak, but he reaches for him, and Ash crawls on the bed to prop himself above him, the only points of contact between the inside of his knees and Chris' hips. It earns him a petulant whine, and the brush of big, warm hands against his sides before Ash takes hold of those wrists and pins them beside Chris' head.

Chris whines again, squirms but doesn't struggle, doesn't resist Ash's control until he lowers his head to nose, just gently, at the sensitive scent gland at the junction of Chris' neck.

"Don't," Chris pleads, then, and Ash has released him, drawn back to stare because he doesn't know what he's done, didn't mean to upset or hurt this precious omega. Chris' eyes shine with tears he furiously wipes away with his freed hand before he locks his gaze with Ash's. "Don't bite me."

"I won't- I wasn't-"

"I'll beg you to. Later. Don't. Please."

For a moment, Ash can't speak. He really hadn't been about to do it, had just wanted to savour that scent, the essence of Chris at its purest. But it's true that his instincts will cloud his mind, later. And if Chris begs him, if he says _please_ in that sweet, broken tone only he isn't asking Ash to stop, he doesn't know that he could deny him anything. 

"I promise," he says, though, sincerer than he's ever been, swallowing the rising emotion that threatens to make his voice quake. He has no idea what Chris has been through to get to where he is, except he does, he knows exactly, and he won't subject Chris to a life of bondage after all he's sacrificed, least of all to him. Least of all this perfect, good, pioneer of a man who deserves so much better than any of it.

"Thank you." Chris' eyes are so beautiful, so bright, so open. He trusts him. When Ash leans down, intending to kiss him, moving slowly because he doesn't know if he can handle a rejection that will cut him to his core, Chris gives him a soft, lazy smile. He's lost so much tension that Ash feels terrible for not noticing it before. "You can do anything else. Whatever you want."

Ash reels. "That's a hell of an offer." His mind is full of images, Chris soft and submitting, arching and groaning, opening up beneath him, stretching wide around his knot.

Chris looks at him only a moment more, then raises his arms above his head, crosses his wrists, and bares his throat.

"Fuck-" Ash almost doubles over with the force and magnitude of his arousal, ducks his head to nose beneath Chris' chin, pressing his lips to the soft skin there, just breathing him in for a moment. It's exactly the opposite of what he needs to calm himself down, but it settles him. It's still early, and he doesn't itch to bite, yet, but he wants to kiss and lick the sweat from the broad expanse of that chest, to press bruises into those hips with his fingers, to hear Chris come apart because of him, for him.

He pants into Chris's neck for just a moment longer, regaining what little control he has, feeling Chris' pulse pound under his tongue. He's propped up on one elbow, resting beside Chris' head, and he adjusts so he can support his weight while wrapping the fingers of that hand around Chris' crossed wrists. He meets Chris' eyes, searching for any reluctance, any objection waiting to be given voice. He finds none. 

He wraps his other hand around Chris' cock to hear the strangled scream as he comes, kept on edge for so long, kept waiting no more. Ash watches his face, the almost-agony of pleasure, eyes squeezed shut before they fly open, a revelation. Chris' pounding heart carries the heat through his veins, his whole body tense, convulsing, before he falls lax back onto the sheets, no movement but the rise and fall of his chest in time with deep, sated breaths.

He's come all over Ash's fingers, up his own stomach, spattered over that heaving chest. Ash licks his fingers clean then shares the taste with him, releases his wrists to suck stray droplets, to lap at longer stripes as he cleans them from gorgeous, smooth skin.

"You're beautiful," he says again, when Chris begins to squirm with the discomfort of his renewed need to be filled, catches sight of the lovely flush that spreads across his cheeks before he claims another kiss, giving him no chance to refute the claim. On that, Ash will accept no argument. Not from anyone.

Chris' efforts at returning his kiss are lazy and uncoordinated, hopelessly endearing. Ash wants to sink inside of him and never leave. Wants to keep him forever. It's a dangerous thought, though, when this can never happen again.

He adjusts, shifting so he can settle between Chris' splayed legs while still kissing him. It brings his cock, thick and so hard it's aching, against Chris', slimmer but no less needy. Ash gasps and Chris whimpers at the sensation, rolling his hips in an attempt to gain more. His thighs, strong and lean and solid, bracket Ash's body as the two of them attempt to get closer. Their sweat-tacky chests stick, rather than sliding, and there's no satisfying friction to be found.

Ash deserts that lovely mouth, kisses the corner of Chris' jaw, doesn't linger too long where there is so much temptation. As his desire builds, his knot swells, aching, and his teeth itch, his body demanding that he mate the willing, viable partner beneath him.

Oh, and how Chris would look, with his belly swollen and round or with their beautiful baby cradled against his chest, those eyes so soft and loving. It makes Ash sob with the need for it, makes his entire body tremble with the strain of resisting. But he promised. He won't do that, not to his kind, commanding Chris.

He's unable to hold back his awestruck sound when he cautiously presses his fingers back behind Chris' heavy, hanging balls. The skin there is soaked, impossibly slick, hot and swollen and the slide is so, so easy. He's slow, but steady, and when he presses further, slipping effortlessly across heated flesh, through the proof of Chris' desire for him, the muscle of Chris' hole is so loose and unresisting that Ash is inside him, two fingers buried to the first knuckle before he even realises he's done it.

It's so hot, so wet, and Chris sighs so sweetly that it seems unreal as Ash delves deeper, finds no resistance at all, just silken walls parting easily around him. Allowing him in. He tests the give with three fingers, eyes on Chris' face, searching for any sigh of pain, of reluctance, of anything that isn't absolute trust and open affection that makes his heart squeeze painfully. 

They can have this. For everything they can't, this can be theirs. Chris lifts his chin a little and Ash cannot deny him, leans down to kiss him with fingers still buried, just. There are no words, just soft breathless sounds, the slick noises as Ash scissors his fingers, making absolutely sure that Chris will be able to take him without any pain. 

"Can we- just like this?" he asks, when he's taken the base of his cock in hand, positioned himself ready to slide right in, Chris' eyes on his, wide and trusting. Chris on his knees might be easier, on his side maybe deeper, but Ash wants those eyes and messy, uncoordinated kisses, seeing his omega come, spurting over his chest while his body flutters around Ash's knot.

And Chris smiles at him and says, "Please."

Ash trembles when he presses slowly, inexorably into the strong, lean body beneath his. Every fraction deeper feels like a hot, wet kiss as he makes a space for himself inside of Chris, pushes his walls apart, feels him shift around him, so willing. Chris is panting too, cheeks flushed, mouth open, head back to expose the lovely, pale curve of his throat. He's so beautiful and Ash can't even find the words to tell him, just sobs, takes and clutches his hand and keeps going. 

There is no resistance. Chris is buttery-soft inside, his hole pink and swollen and glistening with his fluids as he stretches to take everything Ash has to give, right up to the base of his knot. Ash's hips twitch with the urge to shove inside, to force it, and he's not even fully swollen yet.

Chris sobs and writhes, body shifting in search of more, deeper or wider, something to satisfy him. Ash pulls out, almost all the way, meets bereft, heartbroken eyes and then slides back in, so easy. He never stops being careful, his rhythm slow, pace controlled until he's sure. Then he lifts Chris' hips, drags him down the bed and up onto Ash's thighs and lets the whole length of him slide in and across Chris' heat-swollen prostate.

Chris' legs lock tight around Ash's body as he cries out, long and broken. He's stunning, uninhibited, his whole body shaking as he forgets everything and begins to beg for more.

"Please." He's almost inaudible at first, just a breath Ash sees more in the shape of his lips than hears. He's sweating, glistening and gorgeous, covers Ash's hands with his, where they're holding tightly to his hips.

"Ash, please, I need more." He's not denying who he's with, even though his eyes can barely focus, rolling back in his head, his body alternately tense and lax as he chases the pleasure. 

Ash's heart pounds. He can’t believe that he gets to see any of it, that he can possibly be allowed to fly so close to the sun, that he can have this wondrous man falling apart beneath him. Just the sound of his name on those lips is like a revelation, fills him with a violent and possessive euphoria he feels no need to suppress.

"You feel so good, I didn't know- that it would- _ah!"_ Chris breaks off, keening, and Ash drives in again at that same angle, determined, focused only on the pleasure he's giving. _Just you. Only you._

He doesn't realise he's said it out loud until Chris' eyes meet his, stunned and vulnerable even as he gasps for breath, each exhalation a helpless moan. Ash has already left those fingerprint bruises, the only claim he can possibly be allowed. 

"Mate me."

Ash's rhythm stutters, Chris yelping as he almost forces his knot inside in his shock, his whole body tensing. He stares, only base instinct keeping his hips moving without input from his conscious mind until Chris mewls at the loss of the angle, the break in the building pressure.

"What?" he manages to say, voice cracking in the middle before he remembers. Chris had warned him. _I'll beg you to. Later. Don't. Please._

"Please. You're the only one."

It could mean anything. The only one who knows. The only one in the room. But Ash's heart swells with hope regardless. He'll deal with that later, Chris' eyes wet and pleading, his hair a hopeless mess, his hands still clutching at any part of Ash that he can reach, attempting to draw him in closer. To get Ash’s teeth closer to that perfect, unmarred throat so he can sink them in and claim.

Ash can already feel the blood running down his throat, taste the merging of their essences, feel the bone-deep satisfaction of indulging that primal urge. 

He snarls with the unfairness of it all. "No, Chris. I can't," he says, somehow, hunching over to claim a messy, biting kiss, to swallow the hurt, keening sound Chris makes in response. He's too far gone to see sense, feels only the rejection. Ash knows he's trusting him with this open and vulnerable moment because he believes in him. He can't drag it out any more, speeds up his rhythm, coming a little closer to shoving his knot past that last resistance, panting through the full-body shivers that the stimulation sends shooting through him.

"Please, Ash, it has to be you." Chris is so sincere, so genuine that all Ash can do is lose himself for a moment in those eyes and offer the same.

"I want to, baby. But you'd never forgive me." He sees the wounded expression soften a little at the endearment, can feel the rising pressure at the base of his spine, sparking and urgent, knows he can't wait much longer. Chris is close, too, forever shifting, cock leaking, the muscles of his ass squeezing every time Ash pulls out, preparing to drive in deep again.

He allows himself one moment, one deep inhalation of that sweet, clean scent, just the slightest graze of his teeth against the swollen scent gland, enough to make Chris twist and mewl, both into it and away, too much and not enough.

Ash nips at his jaw, reassuring and trying to quell the itch in his teeth the bone-deep conviction that rises up and threatens to overwhelm him. He's so close to coming, Chris' little hitching sobs of need driving him higher, every thrust taking them toward that blissful give of Chris' body. It's like falling off a precipice, the sudden earth-shattering moment where he stretches wide to take Ash's knot and then clenches around him like a vice, keeping him buried deep.

It's too much, the force of his climax tearing at his insides and Ash needs to howl with it but he's clenching his jaw so hard he can't make a sound beyond a pained, animalistic groan.

He can't. He has to- "I'm sorry," he grits out, because it hurts, it's agonising to resist and the only way he can make it stop is by sinking his teeth hard into the meat of Chris' shoulder.

The cry of pain, and how it tears at his heart, he had expected but not the way Chris' body locks tight around his, the way he arches into it and comes without Ash ever laying a hand on his cock. He's perfect. Ash tangles a hand in his hair, sweat-damp and mussed as it is, pets soothingly as Chris works his body through the aftershocks, shivering, each one milking what has to be the last spurt of come from Ash's cock, deep inside of him. He can't believe how right it feels, how Chris isn't fighting to get away from him as his head clears. 

Ash hurt him. He doesn't immediately realise that, in between the visceral, lingering shudders of his breeding instinct, he is lathing the bite mark he left with his tongue, at once both apologetic and mournful.

He's just settling, heart rate returning to normal when he feels Chris' hands on his face. Ash doesn't want to meet his eyes, doesn't yet dare for fear of what he might find there, but Chris kisses him, coaxes him into responding and licks the blood from his teeth. It makes Ash melt, so utterly that his weight has to be uncomfortable, but Chris persists until he can no longer taste copper.

They're both more lucid by the time their eyes finally meet.

"Thank you," Chris says, and everything falls into place around Ash's alpha instincts. He has done well. He's pleased this omega, and he claims another softer kiss before he knows he has to move. They'll be locked together for a while yet, and some rearranging allows them to at least lay together, Ash at Chris' back, pressing kisses that soothe the swelling of his scent gland, that lessen the pain of the teeth marks in his flesh, so close and yet so far from where they need to be.

"Thank you," Chris says again before he relaxes, falling asleep in Ash's arms, the best possible evidence that he feels safe and protected there.

"You're beautiful," Ash murmurs, pressing a soft kiss behind his ear.

-

"Did you know they used to drown those they suspected of being witches?" Chris asks, apropos of absolutely nothing. 

Ash had been dozing, blinks himself into awareness, isn't entirely convinced he didn't dream the words. He's wrapped around Chris, nosing at his hairline, warm and content and sated after another round, another slow, deep fuck, another bite he couldn't inflict in the way he craves. Chris has semi-circles of teeth marks imprinted across both shoulders, now. "What?"

"They would dunk them in the river. If they drowned, they were innocent. If they survived, they were witches, and they were burned at the stake."

Ash makes a sound he hopes sounds like he's following. He has no idea what Chris is talking about. His mind is foggy with sleep.

"It's like this. If you had bitten me, you would have proved you weren't worthy of the trust inherent in the bond. And yet we would have had one, anyway. But you didn't. So you proved that you are. And yet-"

"What are you saying?" It's too much to dream of hope, but there's a fluttering in Ash's chest anyway.

Chris doesn't reply. They fall asleep that way, only waking when Chris' arousal ramps up too far for him to ignore it any more.

-

"Can you do it?" Chris snatches up his comm to ask Phil later, while Ash is showering. Just the thought of all that smooth, slick skin on display is making Chris' attention waver, his body still clinging to the last round of his heat after so long spent denied. His skin tingles with the unfamiliarity of sitting without Ash's skin pressed against his in some way.

"Oh good, you're still alive."

"Can you make my suppressants work if I'm- bonded?" Chris can barely say the word, closes his eyes against it as though it could make the slightest bit of difference. As though it will hold back what he's feeling for the first time in a long life spent alone, and lonely.

"Obviously. Why do you think I called him?"

"You knew?" It's a ridiculous question. Phil knows everything, even when he doesn't. It's one of the worst things about him, and it's kept Chris alive more times than he can count. He snaps his comm closed without waiting for an answer, can only imagine how irritated Phil will be, tosses his comm aside and goes to shove Ash up against the wall of the shower and kiss him hard. He's welcomed, encouraged, even though his omega instincts strive to drive him to his knees instead.

"Before-" Chris is struggling to articulate already, his mind clouding over with arousal and the desire to act upon it. None of that changes the facts. "You said you wanted to. Mate me."

Ash's eyes are huge, dark, filled with guilt, as though Chris doesn't know what it's like to be judged for what he's said in the heat of the moment. Stiffly, though, he nods. Chris cradles his cheek, draws him in for a soft kiss, makes Ash gasp as though he hasn't initiated so many of the same over the previous days. As though they haven't saved each other's lives on multiple occasions. As though they're not perfect together.

"I want you to."

It makes Ash shudder, squeezing his eyes shut against the tears that threaten to fall. "I promised I wouldn't."

"I was scared. I've never done this before. I can't- lose my command. My ship. But Phil- he's been working on my suppressants. They'll still work if I'm bonded, now. I can have this, and you. And I meant it. When I said it has to be you.”

"You could have anyone-"

"I want you. I trust you." Chris does his best to smile, but his voice cracks when he says, "Please?"

-

A few days later, Phil submits the official paperwork denoting the permanent, recognised bonding of Captain Christopher Pike with his long-term omega partner, Ashley Taylor, a clerk at the Section 31 records office. If Spock or Number One think it's strange that they have been recorded as witnesses to a ceremony they didn't attend, they say nothing. 


End file.
